Sacrifices
by RainingYellowRoses
Summary: He would do anything to protect Itachi. Anything. Itachi/Shisui lemons in future chapters, non-con Madara/Shisui, Other/Shisui limes
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: Kishimoto owns all.

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It's such a dismal day. The trees are all bent over with sadness. The dirt roads within the Uchiha complex are empty. Everyone is staying inside. They all want to avoid the dark weather; it's spreading like a disease, filled with regret and pent up emotions and broken fairytales. Broken fairytales, broken thoughts, broken everything. Even the sky is crying for us; for him, for me, for everyone who's ever wanted peace and happiness and was given war and conflict, misery and torment.

My only consolation is that Itachi will never suffer at his hands. Itachi, who has lost so much already, will be allowed to keep the last bit of innocence he has. If I have to give up everything I have, everything I am, I will not hesitate. I have nothing left to live for; all my innocence has been taken. But, if by living, I can protect him from the same fate, then I will continue to suffer. I will give them everything, and more. I will keep giving until I am nothing more than a dried up husk of a person, a mere shell of a being that once existed, I will keep giving until there is nothing left of me but a chalk outline, until there is but a line drawn in place of where a pacifistic, untroubled, caring, young boy used to reside. For Itachi, I will do anything.

I can't seem to find the motivation to move from my bed today. I only look out the foggy window, watching the storm, contemplating. Every raindrop looks like it could be the same as the last, but I know, all of them are completely different. In my clan, most of us all have the same general hair color, eye color, and skin tone. But if you look at each of us, really look at us, we are none of us the same.

All of us carry different personalities and different beliefs. There are a few common traits though. For example, so many people in the older generations are corrupt, even some of the younger generations are as well. It can't be helped. You are what you have to be, what your forced to be, what you need to be, and must be. That is what you become. You are shaped by your experiences and your truth is the truth you have been taught to believe in.

* * *

The rain has mostly stopped now, or at least slowed to a drizzle. Some darker blue-violet has mixed in with the still remaining grey as it slowly turns to night. A few adults roam the streets now. Most of them are either coming home from work or a mission. Some are walking quietly around the block with their less than enthusiastic pets. Children are playing gleefully in the mud as the last of the sun's rays slowly fade into the distance.

I saw Itachi earlier today. He came to visit me after coming home from a mission. He had washed the caked blood off himself and out of his hair. He had changed his clothes, from the prestigious ANBU uniform to the more casual navy blue shirt with the Uchiha crest on the back. I could still see it though. It wasn't on his body, or his clothing, but in his eyes. In his eyes I could see the anguish and the grief that killing others caused him. He was a peaceful being by nature.

He, like me, had grown up during the war. Our childhoods were ripped away before they had even begun. We were the lost generation, any memories we had were ones we were all desperately attempting to forget. We all go about our daily lives, we accept all the deadly missions that no one else wants. We volunteer for them, secretly hoping that maybe this one will be the last.

I have been confined in my bedroom today because of sickness. Not so much physical as mental. I was mentally worn down. The doctor said that repressed emotions can, and will, eventually take a toll on my body. He specified that I should take a day, or a week if need be, off and deal with the feelings I'd been keeping bound up inside. That I shouldn't hinder them, shouldn't keep them caged. But he doesn't understand. If I think about them I won't be able to deal with them. Pretending they are merely figments of imagination is all I can rely on. He doesn't understand what it's like when all you have inside you are memories you must imprison in order to survive.

I felt vulnerable. He wasn't exactly dressed formally, but I was only clad in a simple gray yukata. My hair was untied and it sat limply on my shoulders and fell softly against my back. My bangs partially obscured my face from view and I overall looked like I was about ready to collapse.

He didn't seem to notice. He told me about his younger brother, Sasuke. He absolutely adored the little boy. Sasuke was always following him around and asking Itachi to teach him how to throw shuriken or how to perform a simple ninjustu. I wish he would see how much I needed him. I wanted him to ask me if I was ok. I wanted him to ask me what event had occurred that had hurt me so badly when I answered no. I wanted him to promise me he would always protect me when I told him what I had done.

No…what I really hoped was that he never noticed anything was wrong. I hoped he just talked about Sasuke and never looked at me close enough to see my bleeding heart. I hoped he never looked into my eyes and saw the raw emotions that I saw in his. Protecting him is my sole purpose in life, if he saw the horror of humanity for what it truly was, if he saw exactly how animalistic we really are, and the kinds of torture we were capable of inflicting on ourselves and others, than I will have failed my life's one true mission.

Thankfully, he noticed not and went merrily on his way home to spend more time with Sasuke. And I slipped under the covers of my bed and fell into a troubled sleep filled with nightmares and haunting memories.


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Kishimoto owns all

Warnings: yaoi, lemon, non-con, tort, angst

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Stop, stop, _stop! _His hands are everywhere. Dirty, disgusting, foul, these words can't even begin to describe that man. They can't even begin to describe myself, how I feel when he touches me. His hands are sliding down my chest, nails pricking at my skin. They leave raised welts behind. I won't cry. I've dealt with worse pain than this on missions.

He grabs my wrists, pulling them above my head. I know what he's going to do, he's done it before. I expect it, I'm waiting for it. I won't scream. I won't!

"Nngh!"

I cried, whimpering as he plunged the kunai through my hands, trapping them to the floor beside my bed. I can't fight back, I wouldn't if I could. If I don't fulfill his every desire he'll find another body to do so. I know who he would go to next -my precious baby cousin, my little Itachi, with his obsession for dango and his baby brother.

Suddenly the world is dark. I can't see anything. I've been blindfolded. I wish that not being able to see his menacing frame hovering over me with that sadistic smirk plastered on his face would make the process easier. That maybe I could pretend I was somewhere else, not spread out being violated on my own bed; the very bed that Itachi sat on yesterday when he visited me.

But it doesn't. Having my sight cut off only increases the efficiency of my other senses. All the sensations are increased ten-fold. He is lifting my leg; I can feel his hot breath hitting the skin on my upper thigh. I almost scream when he bites into me. His teeth are penetrating into my skin, breaking through it. His tongue is running along the bite marks, covering the area in sticky saliva, as he laps up the blood.

He is leaving his mark.

No one will see it; it will be covered by clothing. I will hardly even see it; only when I immerse myself in the shower and make a desperate attempt to scrub his dark presence from my body long after he is gone will I catch a glimpse of it. But I know it's there. And that is what he wants, for there to be evidence of this deed placed upon my body.

He wants me to feel the soreness of it when I sit down, he wants me to feel the skin stretch and flex over the indents as I walk, he wants me to think of what is happening to me at this very moment every time I feel the sharp, stinging pain. To remember the defiling touches, the excruciating pain inside me, all around me, this is what he demands.

He is moving all over my body, covering me with bite marks and scratches as if my skin was a canvas and he was the painter.

'Oh, brilliant painter Sir, may I ask what you call this nightmarish work of art?"

'Of course you may, my kind gentleman, I call it _The_ _Broken Martyr: An Authorized Violation_.'

Suddenly the kunai is ripped out of my unmoving hands, leaving two gaping holes in their centers. I am still gasping, trying to calm myself down, and regulate my breathing when I am flipped over. My arms are once again brought above my head and the kunai is replaced, spearing through my already torn flesh. I'm almost gagging from the pain.

I hear a zipper being undone; he must have brought a bag. That must have been where the blindfold came from. I can hear him searching through it, and I'm almost scared to find out what he's searching for.

Suddenly, I know exactly what it is. I can identify it by the sound it makes as it moves through the air. It's a whip.

'Oh fuck, it's a _whip_.'

The swishing sound its making as it flicks through the air is extremely unsettling. My stomach is twisting up into millions upon millions of little knots and I'm filled with a sick sense of nervous-panic-fear-dread. Already my body can feel what it knows is about to happen.

I'm tensing up, awaiting the sharp 'crack!' of the tightly braided leather hitting my bare skin. He doesn't disappoint. The first blow lands on my upper thighs and I can feel raised welts forming once it vacates the area. The second lands a little higher, closer to the softer flesh of my butt.

1-2-3 more, gradually getting higher before it finally hits the creamy surface of my ass.

4-5-6-7-8, I begin to lose count. I try not to beg him end this torture. I refuse to lose all of my pride. I won't scream, I won't plead; I won't give him that satisfaction.

But I can't help letting a few small tears fall silently from my unseeing eyes into the fabric tied around them. I can't stop a few of them from escaping and running down my flushed face and onto the soft, white, pristine, sheets covering my small futon on top of the tatami mats.

I'm whimpering almost silently as he's abusing my milky flesh. Flesh that I'm sure must be turning a rosy shade of red as it's continuously defiled by his abusive hands and violating whip.

I'm gasping by now, trying to pull in some much needed air to my suffocated lungs. He's finally stopping, he's putting the whip down; I can hear it. His corrupted hands touch my bruised and broken flesh, caressing it, and I feel nauseous. His touch is revolting. He's spreading my cheeks.

His vile fingers are pushing at my opening. He is circling it. The sudden gentleness of the touch is such a sharp contrast to his earlier actions that I almost vomit. I want to die, I want to kill myself right here and now, as I feel his saliva-slickened finger begin to press inside me.

He caresses my inner walls, massing them as he adds a second finger. He is scissoring them, stretching my swollen hole. He barely gives me time to adjust before a third finger is shoved in.

"Hahh!"

I gasp in pain as he immediately starts thrusting them deep inside me. I can hardly breath, I feel like my body is compressing in on itself; trying to escape his repulsive touch.

All of a sudden, his fingers are gone. Then I can feel two fingers from each hand dig inside me. They pull me open, stretching me farther than it ever should have been possible. I can feel his hot breath again. This time it's right on my abused opening.

'Please, anything but that. It's too intimate! Too caring, too much like a…lover'

I refuse to show him what he's doing to me; I won't make a sound when I can help it. But in my mind I am pleading, desperately begging him to stop defiling me, for everything to just go away.

He doesn't hear me, he doesn't stop. He wouldn't if he did. His tongue is entering me. The slick muscle is sliding along my satiny inner walls. It's massaging the clenching muscles and I almost moan. This may be the worst part of it all; the part where he forces me to like it, to become aroused by his ministrations.

'It feels _so_ good, so _fucking_ fantastic.'

The wet muscle is thrusting in and out of my rosy hole. His thumbs are pressing against my perineum, applying pressure to my prostate from the outside, as his fingers are digging deeper and stroking the sides of it.

His tongue leaves me briefly and the air hits my wet opening, making me shiver. Something is pushing in again, it's not human.

'So hot! It's burning!'

He must have gotten some form of heat producing lube. The lube-covered object is entering me and I can feel it gliding along inside my silky cavern, heating as it goes. The object stops moving right as it's nestled up against my prostate. And then it's turning on.

"Ahhnnn!...haah!...Nnnnnnnnnnnnnhhh"

I can't hold the moans in. The object is vibrating right up against my spot. His thumbs are still massaging the stretch of skin between my sack and my hole. The slick muscle of his tongue is pressing inside again. It's thrusting inside me.

The intense vibrations coupled with his tongue and the massaging is driving me insane. I'm unable to keep my sounds of pleasure caged inside. I am unable to hold out any longer. I'm coming all over my futon. And I hate myself.

The sick bastard knows exactly how to torture someone.

The fact that he's forcing me to derive pleasure from his actions is hurting me more than the pain ever did, ever will. I will always have the thought in my mind that _I liked it_. And that's going to kill me. That's what's going to break me; the shame, the self-hatred.

I know that it's wrong to feel ashamed, that it's wrong to hate myself for this. No matter how much my body likes it, no matter how much my body betrays me, it's never my fault. I should never hate myself for this because the pleasure I am deriving from this is _forced_.

It's assault, molestation, _rape_.

I wish I could force myself to feel that way. But I can't. My heart won't listen to my mind. My feelings won't listen to logic. And there's nothing I can do. I hate myself for giving in, for giving him the satisfaction of knowing his ministrations bring me pleasure, and for not being able to force my heart to understand logic.

I am doing this willingly, so that Itachi may stay untouched. But it's still rape. It's an authorized sexual assault. I do this because I must. He is blackmailing me with Itachi. And Itachi doesn't even know it.

There is a subtle shift in his chakra signature and I know that play time is over. The pleasure is over.

All of the ministrations cease. The object is removed. He shoves inside me, brutally, sadistically, ripping through my flesh. There's a small trickle of blood, hardly there because he prepared me this time. He gives absolutely no time to adjust.

He is thrusting, breaking, tearing. No matter how much he has prepared me, my body is not build for handling this type of stress. I'm ripping and the pain is agonizing. It's almost unbearable. It's torturous.

It seems as though it's never ending. The thrusting is going on and on and on. He is grunting above me every time he pushes in and the sound is sickening. I'm crying silently; still trying to hold out, to not give him the satisfaction of hearing me.

His hands are gripping my hips, pulling me back onto his large erection. His sweaty balls are slapping my ass as he brutally fucks me. His cock is so long it feels as if every time he drives into me I can feel it in my throat.

I feel like gagging. I think I will once he leaves.

"Come on Shi-chan, you can take more than this! Show me how much you want to protect your little Ita-kun!"

His voice is mocking, demanding, and sadistic. He's playing with me, even now. But there's nothing I can do. I must do whatever he asks of me. And what he's asking me to do right now is pleasure him.

I clench around him as he's driving in and rub his dick against my inner walls. I force my muscles to clamp down around him and stroke his sensitive organ. I'm rolling my hips and pushing them up into his every thrust.

He's moaning and praising me for being such a good slut. I want to kill him.

If given the chance I…I'd like to say I would kill him. And I would derive pleasure from the action, from his murder. But it's a lie. I've never been the type of person who enjoys killing.

If I hadn't been born into this clan…if my profession, my life, hadn't been chosen for me before I was even born, than I never would have become an assassin. I might have become a medi-nin, like the great Tsunade, but never a ninja who specialized in homicide. Or dare I say it, maybe not a ninja at all. Perhaps, I could have just been a doctor.

A person who only lives to help others, to heal them, ease their pain and suffering…what a thought…I would have given anything if I could have been a doctor instead of one of the ANBU.

If there are souls, and we aren't just organisms that accidentally mutated and formed brains that were capable of complex thoughts and emotions. If we are more than chemical reactions and muscle, and there is something bigger than just living out our time on this planet. Then I wonder how it's all decided.

Do souls, before they are transferred to a body, decide if they want to be a dog or a cat or a human? Do they decide how they want their life to play out?

_'I want to be a painter and have 3 kids and….'_

Or is it decided by how you lived a previous life?

_'You committed this sin and this one and this one and so in the next life you will suffer this and this and this…'_

I'm more inclined to think it's the second option, if any. I don't believe that if I ever had a choice in the matter than I would become a mindless killing machine. I wouldn't have chosen to be raped by my hundred year old relative, who doesn't look a day over 30, on a constant basis. I wouldn't have chosen to take the missions in ANBU that they give to the 'pretty ones', the missions where I have to spread my legs to get information.

There is only one thing in my life I would have chosen-Itachi. Being able to spend the few moments of complete happiness, of rare peacefulness, with him…I would never give that up. I would do anything to have just one more of them. They are my life-line, my support; they are what keep me going.

And as Madara is finally finishing up above me they are what keep me from breaking down completely. He's pulling out of me, his semen is gushing out of my abused opening. I can see that it's mixed with a little blood as I watch it dripping down from between my legs and onto the once pristine sheets.

He is pulling the kunai out of my useless hands and leaving. He doesn't bother cleaning me or the sheets. He doesn't think twice about leaving me bloodied and broken, hardly able to move. He knows I won't let anyone see me like this, knows that I'll never let myself lose the small ounce of pride I have left.

He's already gone. He doesn't look back once. Even as I'm hyperventilating and crying, I'm picking up my broken hands and attempting to heal them. Once I've healed them a significant amount I head towards the bathroom. I'm getting the medi-kit and patching them up.

When I'm finished with them I start cleaning the rest of my wounds. I won't dress them until I've gotten out the shower.

I'm turning on the hot water and stepping under the pounding shower. I don't care that it's feels like my skin is burning off, I almost wish it would. I wish it would melt off all evidence of his assault. It won't though.

I grab the sponge and begin scrubbing. I don't stop until my skin is raw and bleeding. I quickly step out and dry off. I dress my wounds and get myself ready to sleep. I'm calmer now, my tears have slowed.

I'm walking back into my room and changing the sheets. It's almost mechanical the way I'm moving. It's as if I've shut down my mind and am just moving robotically, I'm on auto-pilot. I'm afraid that if I look at the sheets I'm currently stripping from my bed I'll start hyperventilating again.

I finish making my bed and climb in.

Maybe tonight, since my brain has shut itself down, I'll be able to get some rare dreamless sleep.

My only thought as I'm slowly growing unconscious is that Itachi is safe again, for at least one more night.


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I do not own, obviously.

Also, as of now I am officially pimping out my lj! If you like my stories(or just want a friend on lj. i don't care.)and have an lj please go befriend my account(if you don't have one, make one!)! It feels lonely...(my account: http:/ yellowrose2167 . livejournal . com/) minus the spaces, and if you're too lazy to get rid of the spaces than my profile also says it without the hassle of spacing.

* * *

I'm not allowed out of the village. Madara must have some connections in high places. Personally, I think he's pulling Danzou's strings. Which basically means hell for me, Madara will be able to do whatever he wants if he's got Danzou in his pocket.

It's getting close to the end for me. I'm almost completely under his control. Not willingly, but with the entire Root ANBU, Uchiha police force, and most likely a group of highly skilled shinobi from all walks of life under his order—bending to accommodate his every beck and whim—there's almost nothing I can do that he doesn't want me to.

I'm under supervision every second of every minute of every day. The only time I'm not being watched is when Madara himself calls them off so that he can keep our..."private time" private.

All that really means is that he doesn't want others to see that he's into blackmailing and sexually assaulting his underage male cousin. He doesn't want to lose the image of the almighty, immortal, stone-cold killer.

There's was almost nothing I could do anymore. I was under house-arrest almost every day for absolutely no reason other than that he wanted it so. It was killing me. I felt trapped, suffocated. The few times a month I was allowed out were painful; most of the time the only reason I could leave was because there was a clan meeting or a formal dinner that I was supposed to attend.

I wasn't sure what the clan was told about my reason for hardly ever being available. They may have been told I had contracted a disease or maybe that I've been on endless missions one after another. None of that mattered. The only thing of importance was Itachi.

Speaking of Itachi he had been staring at me for a full 5 minutes now. I had been allowed out tonight for a dinner and was taking advantage of the time I had outside on the walk home. The air was crisp and fresh. It was like mountain air. It reminded me of a mission I was sent on a long time ago.

The mission wasn't that different from any other. It was the place that impacted me. The mountains were close together and you could see them from anywhere. Some parts were covered in dense forest, others wide open fields. Most of the fields were covered in little white dots—otherwise known as sheep—and cows. There were rocky overhangs protruding from them in various places and slate quarries carved out of their sides.

It rained a lot but on the days it didn't it was absolutely beautiful. Actually, it was even beautiful on the days the sky did open up. There was heavy snowfall in the winter and during the summer the temperature didn't get above 78, or about 26 Celsius.

It had to be the most peaceful place in the entire world. I wanted to live there. That had been what I was thinking. It's impossible though, I know that now. I will never leave this prison. I'm going to die here; we're all going to die here. The clan is going to be exterminated.

Yes, I knew. I had learned of it yesterday—the slaughter of the Uchiha clan by none other than my baby cousin. The bastard himself had told me, probably to torture me with the information. Because really, what could I do to stop it? I can't even stop the violation of my own body, how could I possibly save an entire clan _and_ bring peace between them and the village of Konoha? I doubt I could even stop Itachi from killing me to obtain the Mangekyou.

There were children at the dinner tonight. They were playing with their food and looking absolutely bored to tears with the conversation. Plans had most likely already been made for play-dates and outings they would have 3 weeks from now. The little ones were looking forward to their camping trips and sleepovers that they would never get the chance to have. Why won't they have the chance, you ask? Well, simply because, in three weeks they will have been dead for half a week already. They will be _dead_. Gone—their existence wiped out.

That's all I could think as I watched them. But I understand. I do. It seems like the perfect plan doesn't it? It seems like that is the only way peace could finally come about within the fire village. They're wrong though. I could fix this.

I could fix _everything_. And it would be so easy; no one would have to die. Itachi could live the happy life he always wanted. And maybe I could learn to live again.

I'm not naive though. At this point there's nothing I could do.

"Shisui."

Ah, he finally decided to talk. I guess he'd had enough of me ignoring him. I looked at him, not answering. He can't expect me to just spill my guts—cut myself open and put my insides on display—just because he said my name. Oh no, he's going to have to talk to me if he wants answers. He's been too distant lately. He probably thinks I don't know about anything going on in the village. _Oh_, how he's wrong, so very _wrong_.

It almost pisses me off that he thinks I'm that stupid and unobservant. He's got such a martyr complex. Normally I'd find that noble—honorable. But right now, it annoys me. He's so introverted that all he's sees is himself. He doesn't even think of what others could be sacrificing. And _fuck_, I don't want him to know the things I've done for him. I don't want him to know what I've _sacrificed_ for him, because _hell_, maybe I have a martyr complex to.

"I haven't seen you much lately." I didn't answer, so he elaborated. "There's been talk that you've been rising through the ranks, but I know that isn't the case. Where have you been?"

What could I tell him?

'Oh, yes, about that. You know that guy you've been talking to lately, the one that's going to help you exterminate the clan? The one no one else knows about? He's been touching me inappropriately and keeping me caged in my own house. He knows you're going to kill me so he figured, why not get something for him out of it to? It's not like I could tell anyone.'

Yes, I'm sure that will go over quite well. Don't you think?

"Itachi, can I ask you something?"

He looked at me strangely for a second before nodding his approval.

"To obtain the mangekyou you must kill your most precious person. Hypothetically speaking, shouldn't that be Sasuke for you?"

He didn't know what to say, I could tell. He looked shocked that I even knew about the mangekyou. I wonder how little he had been told.

"Why are you asking this Shisui? You're acting so strangely. This isn't like you."

"I'm curious, why kill me if Sasuke is your most important person? Will it still work if you murder the _second_ most important? Or am I not even that? What am I to you Itachi? Do I even matter at all? You are the world to me, you are my heart. I would die for you—I am dying for you, and if you want me dead then all you have to do is ask."

"What do you—how do you know about that? I mean…you are my most important person! I love Sasuke, I would give anything for him but you—_you_ are the one I love. I love you Shisui!"

"Then do me a favor. Before you use me to get the mangekyou…love me. Please. I just want to know what it's supposed to feel like, just once, the right way."

"I—I don't want to hurt you. How could I do that to you? Just…use your body and then destroy you…I can't. Please Shisui, anything, _anything_ else."

"Don't be selfish Itachi. I'm going to die for you; the least you could do is grant my one request. You won't be _using_ me, I promise. I know what it feels like to be used; and if you love me the way you say you do, than it won't be the same."

He looked stricken, unsure. His eyes were wider than usual and sad—so very sad. His lips were slightly parted and the corners turned down. He looked the way a child would when their most precious toy broke or the balloon they loved popped, spraying tiny pieces of moist yellow rubber everywhere and sending a gush of wind into their face. It was a look of utter devastation and shock. He looked lost.

And then, at the same time that I realized I had revealed a key piece of information, I think he had worked out exactly what that key piece had revealed. And his expression changed. It become one of understanding—of figuring out something of huge importance after being completely oblivious to it for longer than you can remember. And then the smallest, but most hurtful of all expressions, quickly joined the understanding creating a look of pity. I had dreaded this moment. I had hoped it would never arrive. And now that it had, I was yet again at a loss for words.

"It won't be the same…as _what_, Shisui?"

There's a feeling, an emotion, you receive in moments like these. It's hard to name and even harder to describe. The best I can do is explain to you what it's like in my mind.

When I imagine the feeling in my head a scene appears in my mindscape. There is a road with small, one-story, cottage-style houses on either side. The houses have paint in shades of dull grey, bleak white, and storm blue. A median divides the two lanes; it has a few short leafless trees but mostly consists of concrete. The sky is a stone grey and gives the whole scene a clouded feeling, like everything is disconnected, the colors are faded, and anything living is in despair. The air is crisp and cool. It feels like autumn, depressing and lonely. The wind blows every few seconds and leaves me feeling naked even though I'm wearing a significant amount of clothing. I feel exposed and empty, alone and aching.

That is how I feel now, in this moment.

I can't tell him though. I'm not ready; I don't think I'll ever be ready to reveal that information. So instead, I ask him, "Do you think Sasuke will be happy that you left him alive? His entire family, his whole clan, pretty much anyone and everyone he has ever met in his small life will have been brutally murdered and left for him to find by his precious older brother that he looks up to and loves more than anything in the world. He'll be completely alone. Itachi, I don't want to have to say this but I understand Sasuke and I know how he will react to this. I bet you do as well, you are merely choosing to ignore this. He is the type of person who is easily imprinted on. He will want to kill you, and there are people out there who will take advantage of that. He will become an avenger and dedicate his life solely to killing you. He will sever any connections he has and would ever have. He may even come after Konoha to take revenge on them for ordering the extermination of the Uchihas.

Is that what you want for him? I think killing him with the rest of the clan would be more merciful. Or possibly, erasing his memory that he was ever an Uchiha and relocating him to a peaceful village where he can live out his life believing he was an orphan. At least do that for him. Don't give him the task of killing you; he won't be happy with that, he can't live like that. Once he kills you he will likely kill himself, if not destroying Konoha first. Think about that. "

I turned from his broken eyes and walked away. I couldn't stand to look at him any longer, it was too painful. Madara had told me of his plans and what Itachi was going to be forced to do but I had hoped…No, I should have known, I am not that naive. I just…I had wanted him to be wrong; a small part of me had been in denial deep down inside me. But I knew now.

I will go prepare to die. There isn't much I have to do, but there is just one place I hope to go, if only for a day. I'd like to see that place just once more; I'd like to touch the grass, let it caress my fingers, hands, feet, and legs. I'd like to stand on top of a mountain in the rain and let the cool drops hit my face and the harsh wind whip my hair around me and refresh my soul. I want to get soaked to the bone and then laugh in the face of whatever god there might be, for he has no power of me.

I scream in pain because I allow it, I bleed because I allow it, and I am going to _die_ because _I_ allowed it to be so! This is my life, and I will choose how it ends; and that is by Itachi's hand and no one else's!

He is the only one I will die for. Not Konoha, not Sasuke, and _not_ Madara.

* * *

Chapter 4 coming soon! (-ish) .' I'll do my best to write it as soon as possible, but I'm a lazy bitch, so you never know. Thank you for reading!~


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